Marge Simpson Becomes a Pokémon Trainer
by civilianstick
Summary: A nefarious scientist intends to frag absolutely everyone in the world, but Marge has other plans.


_**Marge Simpson Becomes a Pokémon Trainer**_

* * *

 _ **Prologue**_

* * *

"Excuse me, sir," said Marge Simpson to the kindly old man in the long brick building with the red door. "Could you tell me where I am?"

"Welcome to the world of Pokémon!" said the old man, instantaneously. "My name is Oak. People affectionately refer to me as the Pokémon Professor."

"Yes, but where I am I?" asked Marge. "I appear to have taken a wrong turn sometime between leaving the Catholic church hall and coming out at the parking lot."

"From whence do you hail, stooping stranger?" asked Oak, the Pokémon Professor.

"I come from Springfield, in America. A place where Pokémon do not exist!"

"Pokémon do exist in America, you stupid girl," said Oak. "There's even an official Pokémon League in Unova."

"I am not a stupid girl," said Marge, "and I've never heard of Unova."

Oak's eyes nearly ejected from their sockets, and not just in an attempt to outsize Marge's own perfect pearls. "My apologies! You must be telling the truth. You truly have hopped from one world to another! Welcome to the world of Pokémon! My name is Oak."

"Nice to meet you, Oak," said Marge uneasily. "I'm Marge Simpson. Could you tell me where I am?"

"You are in Pallet Town, in the Kanto region," explained Oak. "This world is inhabited far and wide by creatures called Pokémon."

He showed her an example. A little pastel-blue leporid called Nidoran Female Symbol leapt from a sphere in his hand, and fixed her with such a fierce look she knew it must be a noble and honest creature who would fight valiantly for her against any odds, like a child soldier who was a rabbit called Nidoran Female Symbol.

"Some people keep Pokémon as pets. Others use them for battling."

"Yes, and I can see why," said Marge. "Now, Oak—"

"It denigrates the profession of Pokémon Professor to refer to one by just their birth name," said Oak. "Do not do so again."

"I'm sorry, Pokémon Professor Oak… could you point me to the way back home?"

"I'm afraid I can't," Oak shook his head, pursing his lips. "Teleportation is a viable science, I know this because I am a scientist, but though I am very smart the concept of inter-dimensional travel is far beyond me."

"That's a big boot up my bottom," said Marge, who was starting to wring her hands. "O, my children will despair! And Homie, poor Homie! O cruel fate, when wilt thou weary be?"

"I see you are a poet," Oak smiled. "I too am a poet. Would you like to share with me some poetry?"

"I'd much rather get home and clean my children's bedrooms," said Marge, "but as that's apparently impossible, perhaps I'll just go soak my head in the sea for a few hours."

"Nonsense!" said Oak – the tenth thing he'd said so far – and followed it up with another: "I may not be able to help you, but Bill might. He is both clever and a genius! He invented the PC system, which lets you teleport things, and you should go see him immediately, and I will help you do this, so here you go."

"Wha?" said Marge. Oak walked over to a table in his laboratum where three spheres stood in splendour. "I have three Pokémon here, for new Pokémon Trainers who start their journeys in Pallet. As the way to Bill's abode is long and perilous, and passes through forest and mountain cave each teeming with vicious feral Pokémon, I suggest you take one of them to protect you on your journey."

"That's very kind of you," said Marge, "but could I not just take a bus?"

"Bill's house is far away from here, nestled in the mountains north of Cerulean City," said Oak firmly. "You must walk."

"I won't," said Marge. "I'll drive."

"But Marge Simpson!" Oak said, vintage passion burning in his eyes like a pair of stars threatening to die out. "Walking is the Pokémon Trainer's way! You will never gain a meaningful bond with your Pokémon if you just keep it cooped up in its ball the whole time and sit on a bus!"

"If I take the bus," said Marge, "for what do I need this Pokémon?"

"Buses don't go up there anyway," Oak sulked. "You liar! You are a stupid girl."

"I am NOT a stupid girl!" Some of Marge's perpetual simmering stress escaped from its usual bottleneck just below her overbite.

"You are a stupid girl, and weak."

She grabbed his collar and gave him a good shake. "I'll show you, you malignant wart! I'll take your damn Pokémon and be the best damn Trainer there ever was! And I'll go find Bill and trash his house with my Pokémon, and find my own way back home! Just you wait and see, buster!"

Oak said nothing, and smiled as she took one of the Poké Balls and stormed out of the laboratum.

"That was a very smooth implementation of reverse psychology to turn this stooping stranger into your newest disciple," said one of his aides, after she'd left through the big red door.

"Yes," he replied. "That certainly was what I just did to make her do my bidding."

"Why, though?" asked another aide, a she-aide. "I feel that was harsh and unnecessary, and damaging to both her mental health and the possibility Bill might be able to help her return home."

"Pokémon Training is a beautiful thing," said Oak. "It's all part of the reverse psychology, you stupid girl."

"I don't understand why you used reverse psychology to turn this dimensional castaway into another of your tendrils," said the she-aide. "Why not somebody else? Why not your good-for-nothing ratshit grandson, or his neighbour, or his neighbour's sister, or the tubby loser who hangs around outside?"

"I have something else in store for them," said Oak. "Marge will finish the job my premier disciples started… she will conquer the eight gyms, then the League, become Champion, and capture one of every Pokémon in the region, which nobody has ever bothered to do before, and bring them to me. Red, Blue, Leaf… they will go elsewhere, and do elsewhat. And the fatty outside?" the kindly old man gave them an unkindly old grin. "He is the key to the whole operation."

"Aren't you a Pokémon Professor?" said a he-aide. "You don't commit crimes, or do unseemly things. I don't buy it."

"Ah, to be sure, to be sure," said Oak, strolling over to the nearest window. "To be sure, to be sure." He watched Marge go, across the threshold to Route 1, and chuckled to himself. "To be sure... to be sure."

* * *

 _ **Author's Note**_

The Simpsons are not Catholic.


End file.
